“Sue?” I stop walking. “So not just Mrs Jenkins?”
“Not just Mrs Jenkins,” he repeats in a quiet but grim tone.
The implication of this stands between us unspoken but loud as a scream. Trolley Jenkins isn’t the only abusive person at The Glyn.
We continue walking until I reach the car; my mind shuffles through a hundred questions I’m desperate to ask. Where to begin? Raff is already starting to turn to go back.
“Why don’t you say something?”
He stops and turns back to me. “I did. Why do you think you’re still allowed to visit? I told Cynthia if she banned you, you’d have nothing to lose by taking further action. She doesn’t want that kind of headache.”
Wow. Welsh Hagrid is so much more than meets the eye. Talk about not judging a book by its cover. Or a man by his hair and beard.
“I mean why don’t you say something about what goes on here? Report the kind of neglect, the poor food, the bad treatment?”
He holds my gaze. “And that would help how exactly?”
His calm makes me frustrated. “What do you mean how? Cynthia would be fired, or at the very least reprimanded. As the manager, it’s her responsibility…” My words fade.
It’s surprising how when most of someone’s face is covered with hair, the little left visible can be so expressive. Raff’s eyes, eyebrows, nose and even cheekbones, all tell me that my suggestions aren’t new to him. He’s considered taking action but it would achieve nothing.
“You mean senior management? The owners? They don’t care?” I ask on a small breath.
His eyes are full of defeat.
“And if you go to the police? Take pictures as proof?”
He glances behind him at the building then turns back and starts pointing towards the road that goes up the hill, as if he’s showing me the way. “You know what would happen? Cynthia would be moved to another branch, replaced by someone else the same. And I would lose my job.”
“Do you need this job?” I can’t help retorting. “I mean you’re young and can get any job anywhere. You’d be alright.”
“I would, yes. But what about them?” He tips his head slightly in the direction of the building.
Suddenly it all makes sense.
His ever-presence, the way he seems to always pop up when someone needs help. His tight-lipped efficiency. His intervention on my behalf with Cynthia.
All the time I’d been suspicious of him.
“Tell me something,” I ask, remembering my first visit to The Glyn. “When Cynthia asked you not to open the door to theterrace, and you pretended to lock it but later opened it again, you were…I mean it was because the place is so hot…”
He stops pointing at the road and looks at me; there’s surprise in his grey-green eyes. “You saw that?”
“I didn’t understand. I thought you were putting elderly people at risk. Was Cynthia wrong?”
Unexpectedly, his teeth flash in a wide smile; the white beautiful teeth are an odd contrast to the Hagrid hair. “She was right, actually. The stairs can be a hazard. Also, the garden when the ground is soggy. But some of the old guys like to step out. I’ve installed safety gates at the top of stairs, so now they can go on the terrace but can’t go wandering down the steps or into the grounds.”
His explanation makes me feel very stupid. All the noise I made, all it achieved was nearly getting myself banned, forcing Bill to see me in the confines of a small room instead with all his friends. On the other hand, Raff while keeping quiet, managed to defend Philomena from Mrs Jenkins, carried Jack to the nurse and probably plugged a hundred other holes.
The phraseRaff’s alrightsuddenly makes sense.
It leaves me with no questions to ask. Not one.
Well…perhaps just one.
“Philomena says you used to be an actor.”
Instantly, his expression shutters. He starts to turn away. Clearly, this isn’t a subject he wants to discuss. But just for a split second, before the shutters came down, there was something, a look of…strain? Upset? It vanished before I could catch it properly, but it leaves me wishing I hadn’t pried into his private life.
